


Sentimental Heart

by JacklesandHydelecki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacklesandHydelecki/pseuds/JacklesandHydelecki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the nogitsune is defeated and things in Beacon Hills have gotten as close to normal as they ever get, Stiles begins to experience the after effects of his possession.  He tries to go back to being the puckish youth his friends and family love and expect, but he struggles with who he is in the aftermath of the mischief and murder inflicted on Beacon Hills by the nogitsune in his body.  Only one person can possibly help him come to terms with the guilt and pain he is feeling, someone who knows this darkness first hand: Derek Hale.  </p><p> </p><p>  <b> This is intended to be a multi-chapter Sterek fic and I will likely change the rating to Mature or Explicit as the story progresses but this first chapter is pretty tame.  This is my first Teen Wolf fic so let me know how you all like it.  Leave the comments or kudos to fuel my fiery muse. Thanks for reading! </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles was in the driver’s seat of his Jeep, windows down, sun shining, radio blaring some Top 40 track. He should be happy; after all he was back to himself, master of his own destiny, once again. But it still felt strange to be alone under his skin after sharing the space for so long with the nogitsune. It was a relief to be whole again, inasmuch as he could consider himself whole. 

Stiles rubbed his chest absentmindedly as he drove. It ached more times than not, now. At first he’d thought it was because of the way the nogitsune had sliced them open to let out his little fly minions. The scar tissue over his abdomen was still tender despite the strange regeneration of his body and the oddly stretched skin of being the doubled version of himself. But after a while that itch had faded and the scar was almost invisible, except to werewolves. Deaton said that it was likely that the unseen mark may remain permanently etched into his body, as a way of displaying the trauma and triumph of surviving possession by a dark spirit. 

“It may, in fact, serve as a warning to other creatures that your vessel cannot be occupied again.” Deaton had said as he examined Stiles for the fourth time in as many weeks, to assess his progress back to physical health after the demise of the nogistune in the school. 

So that was good, he guessed. But it did not explain this throbbing pain in his chest cavity that sometimes woke him up in the night, along with the nightmares he still experienced about all the horrible things his body had done while in the nogitsune’s control. Stiles shuddered a bit as the sensation of warm blood and cold steel made his fingers spasm against the steering wheel. He could still see the pain in Scott’s eyes as he felt the handle turning in his friend’s body. Stiles reached out and turned the knob on the radio to an earsplitting volume in order to distract his mind from these painful memories. 

It didn’t work. He needed to really clear his head; he’d hoped going for a drive might do the trick, as it had in the years before his possession. When he’d first gotten his driver’s license and dad had presented him with the Jeep he’d gas her up just to drive around town for hours with no particular place to go. Often, Scott would join him and they’d go through three different drive-thrus just because they could. 

Now sitting still in the Jeep and watching the world fly by outside the windows was making Stiles fidgety, instead of calm. He felt a nervous energy building up under his skin, a precursor to a panic attack or a severe episode of ADHD theater as Scott always called it when Stiles would run off at the mouth and run about the house from project to project tearing things apart trying to find a way to still the restlessness through physical activity. All Stiles wanted at the moment was to be out of the confined space of the Jeep and as far away from his thoughts as possible.  
He saw a sign for one of the many entrances to the Beacon Hills Nature Preserve up ahead. He turned the wheel sharply and the Jeep skid to a stop in the gravel parking lot. Barely pausing to the lock the doors and throw his keys in his pocket he took off at a run for the nearest trail. 

His body was almost back to normal after the possession, he didn’t get tired anymore, his strength had returned, and his muscles seemed to be firing on all pistons again. He’d even gone to a few practice sessions with Scott and Danny in advance of the lacrosse season starting up again. He’d held his own fairly well. Still his body wasn’t quite ready for the pace he was setting as he pumped his legs and arms as fast as he could ascending the steep ridge the trail followed. He felt a burning in his chest that was completely different from the usual feeling of cold, throbbing, emptiness. Instead of giving into the stitch that was ripping up his side he pushed past it, barely seeing the trees as they flew by his streaking form. He gulped huge, gasping breaths into his lungs, the euphoria of inhaling so much clean oxygen making his head spin as it was coupled with the endorphins he was getting from the physical exercise. His pulse was thundering in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. His body was screaming for him to let up but he wouldn’t listen, he was running like he was being chased, like he could actually out strip the darkness inside his own mind. 

He didn’t look at his watch before he started and he didn’t keep track of the mile markers along the trails. He just ran. The sound of his breath and the stinging pain of too much strain were his only companions as he thundered through the preserve at a pace that most observers would deem super human. For a while he reached a state of numb bliss. His mind was blank. It would almost feel like he was sleeping if not for the twisting pain of his unprepared muscles driving him and keeping him awake. He ran until the throbbing sound of his pulse in his ears began to mimic the pulsing black dots that crept around the edges of his vision. Until he felt his gasping breaths becoming shallower despite his efforts to pull deeper into his lungs, until his muscles began to spasm and disobey him, causing him to stumble and his ankles to twist on the uneven ground below them. Suddenly his forward momentum ceased in a concussive stop as he dropped to the ground unconscious from exhaustion. Realizing that his arms were too tired to stop them from colliding, the last thing he saw was the leaf strewn earth coming up to meet his face as he simply closed his eyes and floated away.  
\---  
When he woke up the sharp scent of the coyote den assailed his nostrils bringing with it a torrent of nightmares from his time there with the nogistune. He felt the rush of panic and adrenalin coursing through his veins as he struggled to reach a fully wakeful state. 

“What the…?” He choked out as terror closed his chest off from air. Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong hands grip him from behind and he began to throw elbows as he attempts to wrench himself away from his memories of the rag wrapped nogitsune torturing him. 

“Stiles!” He hears the voice, it’s one he recognizes but his addled brain is too caught up in panic and fight or flight to register that it is not the voice of an enemy.

The hands on his shoulders let go briefly only reappear as they wrap themselves around both of his pin-wheeling arms effectively immobilizing his flail. 

“STILES! STOP!” The sound of the voice and the command behind it finally register as his eyes manage to focus for the first time since he awoke disoriented by the memories associated with this smell. His body stills and he looks down to see two powerful hands grasping him tight around his middle. The arms attached to the hands are covered in buttery soft black leather. The silver brads and zippers adorning the material seem to glimmer in the odd half-light cast by a small campfire near the entrance to the den. 

Only one person Stiles knows rocks that kind of wardrobe and he happens to be the same person who might find him in the middle of a forest preserve that is otherwise deserted. Stiles tenses as he becomes fully aware of the fact that he has collapsed from exhaustion in the forest and been dragged to the nearest shelter unconscious by Derek Hale. The same Derek Hale who is currently holding, well more restraining, but honestly since he stopped struggling it feels more like a bear hug than an attempt to hold him down…Oh GOD is Derek hugging him? Stiles feels his heart beat jump back up at the thoughts flying through his head. He is being held by Derek Hale. He needs to say something or this is only going to get more awkward. 

“Uh, nice grip there Bane, any chance you are gonna let me go before you break some vertebrae?”

Derek tenses behind him as if Stiles’ words had just made him suddenly aware of how intimate their embrace was. The arms withdraw rapidly Stiles feels a draft as the heat of Derek’s body is quickly shifted away from Stiles’ prone form. 

Stiles has a brief moment of remorse for the loss of warmth and the lack of support for his sore muscles. He shifts painfully on the hard ground and his entire body lights up with the fiery aches in every abused muscle. 

“Ouch! Oh God, I’ve really done it now, I probably pulled every muscle in my legs. Oh man that hurts!” Stiles winces as he runs off at the mouth, trying desperately to find a comfortable position that doesn’t make his whole…self, hurt. After a couple minutes of continuous painful motion he eventually settles with his back propped against the flattest wall in the den, his legs stretched out in front of him as he attempts to rub them back into working order. Derek observes this entire process in stony silence. 

Stiles uses his slightly less painful arms to rub his excruciatingly sore thighs and calves on each leg occasionally drawing in sharp hissing breaths through his teeth as he works his way up and down. As he makes his way back up his left leg he hazards a glance at the resident sourwolf in the corner. Derek looks pissed. Well, he always looks pissed. But this is more of a scowly ‘I am angry at you for doing something stupid’ kind of pissed than a ‘I’m going to kill you and eat your children’ kind of pissed. It’s a good thing Stiles has learned to read the broody wolf so well or he might actually be frightened by the intensity of the stare Derek levels at him. 

“So…fancy meeting you here?” Stiles attempts to break the tension with a playful grin. Derek is not buying what Stiles is selling. In response he crosses his arms over his chest and presses back so hard against the wall he’s leaning against Stiles is surprised that it doesn’t crack or splinter under the force of the impact. 

“OK…Maybe not. Uh, look I appreciate the rescue or whatever, but I have some serious issues with your choice of sanctuary…” Stiles is interrupted as Derek crosses the distance between them in a flash and Stiles finds himself face to face with a be-fanged and seriously angry blue-eyed werewolf. Derek fists both hands into Stiles’ shirt and practically throws him back against the wall. 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Derek roars in Stiles face. Stiles feels spittle painting his cheeks and he struggles to ignore the impetus to wipe his sleeve across his damp skin. 

“You mean in general or like right now?” Stiles keeps his composure pretty well given that Derek looks mad enough to sink his two inch fangs into Stiles’ jugular just out of spite. 

“Do not be cavalier about this Stiles! When I found you, you smelled like you were about to have a heart attack. You left a trail of anxiety pheromones through the entire back half of the preserve. I could feel your panic, your body’s exhaustion as I tracked you! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Derek’s volume had decreased slightly as he relayed this to Stiles but his grip only grew stronger, Stiles felt the skin of his shoulder bruising underneath the wolf’s grip. 

“OK, um, first of all, OW, dude you have to let go! I’m already sore and you’re going to tear my arm off if you keep holding it like that.” Derek shook his head and immediately loosened his grip on Stiles’ body, but he didn’t completely let go, instead he shifted his left hand to the floor of the den and the right he pressed palm down on Stiles’ chest, as if he were trying to support the younger man and keep him up right. 

“That’s..um…” Stiles felt a blush creep into his cheeks as he felt the warmth of Derek’s hand through his shirt, glancing down he realized that Derek was kneeling in front of him his legs on either side of Stiles’ narrow hips. 

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to stifle the embarrassment he felt as his brain became extremely interested in the proximity of the very attractive predator to Stiles’ crotchal region. Derek’s nostrils flared and his pupils dilated as his werewolf senses got a hint of what Stiles was thinking.

Derek hissed an inhale as if he’d been burned and rapidly withdrew his hand. He shifted his crouched position so he was beside Stiles but not straddling him and then leveled his now hazel eyes on Stiles, waiting on the boy to make the next move. 

Stiles felt his face burning but he managed not to let his voice crack as he began to explain what happened this afternoon. 

“Right. Uh, so. No. No I wasn’t trying to kill myself. At least I don’t think that was my intention. Seems like it would kinda selfish and stupid to die on a run after everything you all went through to save me. After Allison…” Stiles suddenly felt any hope of arousal drain out of his body and the dark hole in his chest gave a piercing throb at the memory of his lost friend. After a minute Stiles drew a shaking breath. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he’d be damned if he was going to burst into tears in front of Derek. Derek; who always managed to be so strong in the face of so much tragedy, Derek; who held them all together when they were ready to break apart, Derek; who’d stayed by their side despite their lack of trust or support in anything he’d ever done. No, Stiles was not going to be weak in front of him. 

But he was going to be honest. Because he knew that Derek was the only person who might be able to help him through this, because he was still here after all that he’d lost and all the pain he’d endured. Perhaps Derek could tell Stiles how to defeat the coldness that had taken up residence in his heart. 

Stiles drew in a deep breath. “I just…After everything that happened, I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to pretend that things are normal again. That Scott and I can still be best friends. That I can go to school and tell jokes and complain about Coach. I feel like that guy isn’t me anymore. Whatever the nogitsune was, that’s a part of me now. And even though it’s gone…”

Stiles looked up from his hands where his eyes had been since he started talking. Derek had a thunderstruck expression, his grey-green eyes were shimmering with unshed tears and his brows were knit in such an intense expression of grief and sympathy that Stiles completely lost his train of thought. But that seemed okay because Derek knew exactly where it was going. “Even though it’s gone…the darkness is still there. Isn’t it?” Stiles nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the torrent of emotions that were spilling from Derek’s face. 

“I have this…” Stiles unconsciously presses his hand against his chest, trying to stifle the ache there. He struggles with this part, because admitting it is like giving up. It’s accepting that this thing inside him is a part of him, not just a scar that will fade with time, but an actual living, breathing problem that may never be able to be fixed. And that scares Stiles, more than anything that this feeling will never go away. That it will only grow and grow until it eventually consumes him. In the end he doesn’t have to say it, because Derek knows. “Ache? Like a cold spot in your chest?” Stiles’ eyes widen. Unable to hold back the tears any longer he feels their warmth as they slip down his cheeks, and he’s shocked even further when Derek’s eyes mimic his own and tears begin to stream down over his sculpted cheek bones to navigate the forest of black whiskers along his jawline. 

“What is it?” Stiles voice comes out as a whisper as if he’s afraid if he says it too loud it will spoil the moment between them, or maybe that it will make their pain too real. Derek shakes his head his lips trembling. “I don’t know. I just know it. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s fear…” Derek looks down for the first time since he began. When he looks back up he looks so young. So frightened and unsure, nothing like Stiles has ever seen him before. There was a brief glimpse after Boyd’s death, but even then Derek managed not to look so lost. So completely and utterly adrift.

That look scares Stiles. It terrifies him to his very core. Because in that look he sees his own face, his own eyes. That is exactly how he has been feeling these past few weeks. Untethered. Broken. Floating. Distant. Cold. 

He’s not sure which one of them moves first, but they meet in the middle. Stiles pulling Derek into him as Derek tries to press himself into Stiles’ body. Their arms encircle each other and their hands grasp and pull trying to close the distance between their bodies as thoroughly as possible. Their hands bespeak their desperation. The need for comfort. The irrepressible want to be close when you have found a kindred soul. Stiles lets out a soul wrenching sob for everything he’s lost; his innocence, his irreverence, his friends. And he feels Derek tremble in his arms as he mourns for himself and for Stiles too. 

Derek’s stubble is pressed against the side of this face, Derek’s chin tucked against his chest, and he can feel the wolf’s warm breath against his neck as he pants out gasping, silent sobs. Stiles feels the wetness running down his neck under his collar he strokes the soft leather of Derek’s jacket as the older man curls into Stiles’ body and comfort. 

They stay like that for so long the fire goes out. Leaving them in pitch darkness save for the luminosity of starlight trickling in from the entrance of the cavern. Eventually Derek shifts his weight in Stiles’ arms and begins to pull back from the intensity of their embrace. But Stiles simply shifts his hands from Derek’s back to his neck and pulls the bigger man back into the crook of his neck. Then holding on he gently eases them both over to the side so that they lay together on the floor of the coyote den. Derek makes a small sound of protest at the shift in position but Stiles slots his sore legs over and through Derek’s jean clad ones, ensnaring them and providing warm support for his aching knees. 

Stiles shifts his head so his nose is pressed into Derek’s hair. The smell is much preferable to the stench of the coyote den. Derek’s scent is all pine and cedar with a bit of campfire smoke and rain mixed in. Stiles sighs contentedly and then closes his eyes to dream. He is so spent that he barely notices that the ache in his chest seems to have quieted, but Derek, resting in his arms, relaxed but not asleep feels the easing of his own pain and it fills him with hope. That night was the first time in a very, very, very long time that Derek sleeps and doesn't dream of fire and screams.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles awoke as the early morning light filtered into the den. He felt stifled by the heat of the werewolf wrapped around him, but upon glancing down and seeing Derek’s normally tight, angry features softened by sleep Stiles resigned himself to endure the discomfort. Sourwolf looked positively angelic with his brow unmarked by broody lines and his full mouth slightly parted as even, shallow breaths escaped. Stiles smiled, wondering idly if he was the first person to see Derek like this. If he wasn’t it had certainly been a very long time since Derek let his guard down enough to fall asleep with someone. He doubted Jennifer merited the privilege and Derek hadn’t spoken about his relationship with Kate much, but having met her she didn’t strike him as a cuddler.  
As if sensing the intensity of Stiles’ focus Derek stirred, shifting slightly into the smaller man’s warmth as he huffed out a contented sigh. Empowered by the intimacy of this movement Stiles raised his free hand and began to stroke his lithe fingers through the thick black hair near Derek’s temples. Derek’s brow furrowed and his body tensed as his eyes flew open, startled terror making them flash blue before he focused and realized the man beside him was not a threat.  
“Woah, Nicholson, no need to wolf out on me. I was just trying to snuggle.”

Derek pushed himself bodily away from their make shift bed, Stiles felt the rush of air as the absence of the wolf’s warmth escaped, he shivered. Derek pressed his body against the rocky wall as far away from Stiles as possible without actually leaving the den.  
“We should go. I’m sure your father is looking for you, not to mention the rest of the pack.”  
Stiles’ face fell, bewilderment and hurt making his full mouth turn in a grimace. Of course nothing had changed. Derek obviously just had a moment of weakness and let his guard down. It was too much to hope that grumpy wolf would acknowledge the moment they’d shared.  
Stiles didn’t meet Derek’s eyes as he stood to brush himself off. If he had he might have seen the vulnerability his own emotions elicited in the stern visage. Derek’s eyes shone as he realized what he’d done to the poor vulnerable young man in front of him, but he couldn’t stop himself. He remembered, all too well, what happened to those who got too close.  
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled sounding broken and tired, “they’re probably pretty worried.” He turned toward the exit but his steps halted as he began imagining how Scott or his dad might handle him explaining that he had decided to run himself nearly to death in the woods rather than deal with the guilt and pain leftover by his possession. The ache in his chest shot cold fingers deep into his heart making his body curl over as he grasped fruitlessly at his skin, as if he could claw it free.  
Stiles gasped as he felt a flood of tears stream down his face, their warmth making him shiver at the contrast of temperatures within. Another wave of pain shook him to his core making him feel weak and dizzy. His sore muscles giving way, he collapsed to his knees, sobs wracking his form, as he turned into himself trying to find some comfort in his own arms.  
Then he felt a lightness overcome him as he was lifted from the cold stone floor. Warm arms wrapped around his shivering body driving away the soul killing cold. He felt a calmness settle over his heart, his mind freed from the crippling sense of guilt began to process that Derek was holding him, comforting him. Stiles tried to struggle free of the wolf’s grasp but Derek’s arms were like iron bands and Stiles didn’t really want to escape.  
“You’re not alright are you?” Derek’s voice was thick as if his own emotions were rising to the surface in response to Stiles’ turmoil.  
“How long has it been this bad, Stiles? It didn’t just happen, how long?” Stiles tried to find his voice but he was overwhelmed by the flood of memories Derek’s question brought on. He recalled Allison’s funeral and how he couldn’t even cry because he felt like he didn’t have the right. A few days later he stared at his own reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize the eyes looking back at him, he’d felt a chill creep into his heart then. Food hadn’t tasted the same in weeks, he didn’t laugh anymore unless it was a bitter, harsh sound closer to a scream. It had been growing inside him and building like a cancer for months. Stiles turned his face into Derek’s shoulder and just shook his head.  
Derek began to walk, ducking his head to exit the den but never releasing his reassuring grip on Stiles’ limp form. Stiles wondered where the man was taking him, but he found he didn’t care, as long as Derek didn’t let him go. Derek walked in silence. Stiles lay in his arms in a dazed and half-conscious state, vaguely aware of the movement of trees around them. Eventually he closed his eyes and drifted in and out of waking.  
\---  
Stiles’ eyes fluttered open and he felt the pleasant support of a bed at his back, overly soft and comforting after his night on the cold stone of the coyote den. His arm was wrapped around and under the muscular weight of Derek’s right leg. The man attached to it sat with his back pressed against the head board and a novel grasped in his elegant fingers. As Stiles stirred he let the book fall beside him on the bed, his page marked with a leather strap retrieved from the bedside table.  
“Hey.” Stiles murmured sleepily retrieving his arm from underneath Derek so he could use both hands to rub the dream sand out of his eyes.  
“Hey.” Derek replied, a slight smile ghosting across his lips as he watched Stiles’ gangly limbs unfurl to a stretch that arched his back exposed his taut belly underneath the hem of his crumpled t-shirt.  
“Hungry?” Derek asked already moving toward the stairs leading down the main floor and his kitchen. He could hear Stiles’ stomach rumble at the suggestion of food.  
“Sure, want some help?” Derek nodded pretending not to notice the note of desperation that crept into Stiles’ voice as he realized Derek would be further away from him than he had been in over twenty four hours.  
Stiles scampered out of bed, tripping awkwardly over the edge of the duvet that Derek had thrown on the floor. Derek grinned outright being reminded of the teen’s inherent bumbling nature. It was a good sign that the Stiles he knew was still very much alive and well, underneath all the darkness and pain that had obfuscated his personality.  
Stiles flushed with embarrassment at his own limbs’ betrayal. Rubbing his neck and fidgeting as he waited for Derek to look away and begin his decent.  
Derek stared at Stiles until the boy was forced to meet his gaze, questioning the wolf’s stoicism.  
“We going down or what?”  
“I just want you to know…” It was Derek’s turn to cast his gaze about the room rather than meeting the other man’s stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you earlier. I didn’t understand how bad it was. I would never…” Derek looked over Stiles’ shoulder at the middle distance, his face showing the flood of memories that he struggled to repress so he could continue the conversation. “I would never, deliberately, cause you pain.” Stiles eyebrows flew up at this, ready to argue about heads slamming into steering wheels and bodies thrown against walls. But Derek held up his hand as a measure to temper Stiles argumentative nature.  
“I know I haven’t exactly been…cuddly and approachable in the past.” Stiles stifled a snicker against his fist at the sourwolf using the word “cuddly” in a sentence referring to himself. Derek furrowed his brows in consternation. “I’m trying to say…I..” Derek’s hands clenched at his sides his jaw working as if trying to push the words out against the resistance of his closed lips.  
“I want to help you and I think… I think that maybe only I can.” Stiles let his bemusement at the wolf’s discomfort fade away. The truth of the statement floored him emotionally. Stiles was grateful that Derek would even consider helping him this way, it was a lot to ask and Stiles never would have been able to do so on his own. It bespoke the truth of the connection he’d felt the previous night in the den when he simply reached for Derek and nodded once only to find the taller man in his arms for the second time that day.  
Stiles had a sudden sense of déjà vu as the powerlessness he’d felt when his mother passed away suddenly took him over again. He swooned with the heady rush, unable to control his body as it collapsed into Derek’s strength.  
“Stiles?” Derek grasped him tighter with one arm while tilting his head back to be able to look him in the eyes. Stiles focused on the hazel green orbs that were full of concern for him. He felt his legs gain traction under him again. The claustrophobic sensation of panic eased from Stiles’ chest and he managed to press himself away from the enclosure of Derek’s arms of his own volition.  
“S-sorry. I just…” Stiles licked his lips nervously, frustrated at his own body’s inability to function normally. “Derek, what is happening to me? I’m not some delicate flower, yet I keep ending up in your arms at the slightest provocation. It’s not normal. What the hell?” Derek’s arms were still clasping Stiles’ shoulders to steady him. Stiles felt him squeeze gently. It was so strange to receive such a comforting gesture from Derek, but he immediately felt his body relax in response to the wolf’s touch. It felt REALLY good actually, almost… Stiles blushed as he felt a little twitch of interest from much lower in his body than his shoulders.  
Derek’s nostrils flared and a look of surprise flashed across his features. It was quickly chased by an uncertain stare. Stiles stepped fully out of the wolf’s embrace as he waited on his answer.  
Derek sighed and let his arms drop to his sides. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I have an idea based on a story my father told me once when I was younger. The tale was about two lovers, they were separated by tragedy and they both thought the other had died. Their hearts were scarred by the intensity of their lost love. Over time a darkness crept into their souls where the wound was unhealed and sore. They both lost themselves and became something completely other than what they once were: killers. They roamed for many years without a home or a pack until one day in a forest they caught scent of each other. Their minds clouded by years of angst and pain they didn’t recognize the other’s odor and each believed the other to be a threat. They raced toward each other in the forest land set on killing the enemy before them. But as they met and began to battle the proximity of their soul mate raised the veil of darkness. They recognized each other as the other half of their scarred and broken hearts. They mated there under the full moon and it healed them both as only true love can. Or so my father told it.”  
Stiles stood dumbstruck in front of Derek, his jaw hanging open in disbelief.  
“So…what? You and I are soul mates? Is that what I’m supposed to take away from that story? That the only way to fix me is to mate with…”  
“No!” Derek said too loudly. Stiles flinched and tried not to look hurt by the vehemence of his protest. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just… It’s just a story. But some of the things that are happening to you are similar to what I remember from my dad’s version of it.” Derek looked at Stiles with pleading eyes. He really wanted to help the young man. And he was making a mess of it. Already. As usual.  
Stiles seemed to understand and he nodded. “So what do we do about it?” I mean the only time I even feel somewhat normal is when I am within ten feet of you. It’s not like you can follow me around for the rest of my life just to keep me from dying of dark heart disease or whatever the hell I have.”  
Derek rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I think we should talk to Deaton, he might have a better idea of how we handle this. In the meantime you can stay here.”  
Stiles nodded. “That makes sense. Oh! My dad!” Stiles’ palm hit his forehead with a smack. Derek tried to stifle the urge to grin.  
“I called him and Scott while you were passed out. I told them that I’d found you in the forest last night, lost, and that you were staying with me for a few days for proper woodland training, to avoid such incidents in the future. Your dad seemed eager to have you learn a useful skill. Scott just laughed.” Derek did allow himself a grin at the memory of Scott’s response.  
Stiles arms gesticulated wildly as if trying to swat away Derek’s humorous response. “Woah! I am not somebody who just randomly gets lost in the woods like, like…”  
“Little Red Riding Hood?” Derek supplied helpfully resisting the urge to reach out and tug on Stiles’ favorite red hoodie.  
Stiles threw Derek a dirty scowl then huffed a sound of derision as he shoved past the wolf to head down the spiral staircase, effectively ending their discussion on the topic. “I thought you said something about food? You coming sourwolf?” Derek chuckled under his breath then followed Stiles into the kitchen to make them something to eat.  
\---  
“Hmmm.” Deaton peered inside Stiles’ mouth and nose with the otoscope. He poked and prodded at Stiles’ chest and abdomen. He shone a really bright light in Stiles’ honey brown eyes, making him curse loudly as his pupils dilated painfully. He took blood, cheek swabs, and performed an incredibly thorough prostate exam. After all of this torture Stiles expected the doctor to have something more profound to say than. “Hmmm.” Deaton said it again interrupting Stiles’ internal monologue with an oddly jarring synchronization. Now Deaton was examining Derek. Stiles would have preferred that the wolf not be present for the more embarrassing parts of Deaton’s exam, but given the current circumstances, his presence couldn’t be helped. At least Derek had had the decency to turn around and stare moodily at the corner when Deaton had instructed Stiles to strip. Stiles found that he had no such compunction. He stared blatantly as Derek stripped his shirt off to let Deaton examine his chest and pelvic region. When Deaton encouraged Derek to remove his black jeans and boxer briefs for the more invasive part of the examination, Stiles found himself drawing in a deep breath in anticipation. Derek’s hazel eyes met Stiles’ and his brows knitted in the universal sourwolf disapproval grimace, or as Stiles’ had privately taken to calling it “Sour Scowl #3”. He made a motion with his finger that intimated his desire for Stiles to turn around. Stiles, letting his curiosity win out over his sense of self preservation, simply crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head “no”. Derek’s eyebrows flew up in embarrassed confusion for a moment. Stiles took the time to process that it was exceedingly odd that he suddenly wanted to see the broody wolf naked and bent over a table. In fact if you had asked Stiles a month ago if he ever wanted to see two hundred pounds of hairy werewolf butt ass naked he probably would have cringed and gone into a flailing diatribe about inappropriate mental images. But something had shifted inside Stiles when Derek and he shared that moment in the coyote den. Stiles couldn’t explain it but it was as if Derek was completing him. Ew, nineties movie cliché. Seriously what was wrong with him lately?  
Derek seemed to grow tired of trying to persuade Stiles to let him have his modesty, so rolling his eyes; he dropped his pants over his narrow hips and shuffled his feet loose. Standing facing Deaton he then slid his fingers under the ribbon of elastic holding his black boxer briefs up on his hips. Stiles watched a flush creep into Derek’s cheeks but he didn’t hesitate to pull the material down and off just as fluidly as he had the jeans. Stiles felt his jaw go slack and he may or may not have made an audible sound at the sight before him. Derek was chiseled marble covered in soft black fur. His muscles were smooth, well-honed plains starkly contrasted against the hard outcropping of bone under his pale flesh. Between his legs was a thatch of black hair in which was nestled a long, thick, uncut specimen of manhood. Stiles felt his eyes bug out and blood rush simultaneously to his cheeks and his groin. Derek’s ears grew red as he turned placing his palms on the examination table and canting his hips backward to allow Deaton easier access to his rear entrance. Stiles felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. There shouldn’t be anything sexy about watching the older man examine Derek’s prostate. Deaton was very professional and had a perfectly composed mask of clinical passivity on his face as he coated one latex gloved finger with lubricant and gave Derek a brief warning about coldness and pressure before pressing inside the wolf with a celerity and efficiency that bespoke many years of practice. Derek issued a barely audible hiss at the sensation his face struggling to remain impassive as the doctor pressed and prodded the tissues inside him.  
Stiles was a mess. He couldn’t help picturing himself in Deaton’s position, pressing closer and closer inside of Derek. The part of him that usually ached with a dark coldness instead flared with a yearning burn to be that close to the being that made him feel whole. He’d never considered himself bisexual before, women always seemed more his speed. He could appreciate the attractiveness of his male friends but it was always a more objective aesthetic appreciation than a lustful coveting of their forms. But seeing Derek spread out like that, naked and vunerable, made everything in Stiles’ body go on red alert. He knew the wolf could smell his arousal, Derek’s nostrils flared and his eyes glinted angrily over his shoulder at the corner where Stiles stood, trying to get ahold of himself. He watched Derek’s claws extend and shred perfectly spaced strips of vinyl from the examination table he was gripping. Derek’s eyes flashed and his fangs dropped his whole body beginning to tense as if he was a coiled spring. Deaton pronounced the examination finished and stepped away to dispose of latex gloves and note his findings on the examination sheet. The minute Derek was free to move he pushed away from the table and moved like lightning to cover the younger man, forcing Stiles back flush against the wall behind him.  
Derek growled low in his throat and Stiles let out a yip of surprise. Derek’s arms caged Stiles’ head in his face inches from Stiles’ own. He looked angry, but his eyes flashed with something else, hunger.  
“What are you playing at? Watching me strip like that? Smelling like that while you watched me? Do you know what that does to my wolf?” Stiles swallowed loudly the click of his throat working the only sound in the room besides his and Derek’s ragged breathing.  
Stiles should be afraid. He’d pissed off a werewolf for Christsakes. But instead he felt a building warmth that radiated from his chest to his groin and back up his spine. The closer Derek got to him the more intense that sensation was, and heaven help him, Stiles wanted more of it. Derek’s brow was unfurling, as he realized that he wasn’t intimidating Stiles as much as turning him on more.  
Stiles pressed his hands into the wall behind him tracing the outlines of brick with his fingers to keep himself from reaching out and pulling Derek closer. “I didn’t mean…I can’t control this Derek. I don’t even know why I’m feeling this way. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have watched. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or upset your wolf.” Stiles strove to look contrite, but his body betrayed him the flush in his cheeks and the obvious bulge in his skinny jeans. Derek huffed, it didn’t sound angry, more bemused. Then suddenly it seemed to occur to Derek that he was standing naked, nearly pressed against the extremely aroused Sheriff’s son, in the presence of another adult. Derek jumped backwards as if he’d been kicked. He rushed to pick up his clothes from the floor turning his back to Stiles as he hurried back into his boxers and jeans. Stiles was a bit spun for a loop by the rapid shift in Derek’s mood, but he did take a moment to notice, before Derek turned away from him, that in that dark patch of hair between Derek’s legs stood a very aroused and sizeable member. Stiles smiled softly to himself with the gratification of knowing he wasn’t the only one.  
Deaton cleared his throat causing Derek and Stiles to break the stare they were currently holding. “So this is a very interesting case. I will need to do some research in a couple of the old grimoires and werewolf lore books but I do believe what you two are experiencing is an early onset mating bond probably brought on by shared emotional compatibility.” Both Stiles and Derek gawped at Deaton. “Mating bond?” Stiles squeaked.  
“Are you sure?” Derek growled at the same time.  
Deaton simply nodded at both of them. “I believe you already suspected this Derek. And it is really the only explanation for Stiles’ reaction to you. I am most curious about the emotional compatibility insinuated by the story your father told you. I have not heard of mating bonds being formed based on shared emotional experiences. I suspect you were already mentally and physically compatible with Stiles before the aftermath of his possession forced his body to seek out a companion to assist with his healing.”  
Derek and Stiles exchanged a glance at this. They had, on occasion, shared some intense moments before the nogitsune, but neither of them had considered the other a suitable mate just because they kept saving each other’s lives and staring angstily into each other’s eyes. And damn, when you put it like that Stiles thought, it seems like this was kind of inevitable. Like every Nicholas Sparks novel starts with characters like in each other’s pockets and desperately unaware of how the other person would give up everything for them. Jeez. What a mess.  
“So…what do we do?” Derek looked haunted and a bit desperate. Stiles wasn’t sure how to take that.  
“For the moment I would recommend letting your bodies take the lead. Your natural senses are drawing you to each other, if what I just witnessed is any indication. I advise you not to fight it.”  
“You want us to…” Stiles’ arms gesticulated wildly between his body and Derek’s. The intimation making Derek look shyly at the floor and tuck his hands in his pockets.  
“Only if that is what you want to do. A mating bond is a primal thing. Among wolves it is a sacred and powerful ritual, if you are experiencing the need to be close to each other denying it could have very nasty side effects for both of you.” Derek nodded, he already knew this of course, he was raised a wolf and knew the significance of what he and Stiles now faced. It was hard for him to grasp, though, that he could have this. After Paige, Kate, and Jennifer, after the pain caused by Peter, Laura’s death, Cora abandoning him; Derek couldn’t find it within himself to feel like he deserved to find something so rare and special. And he worried that Stiles wasn’t ready for the kind of commitment such a bond would create between them. Derek scrubbed his hand roughly across the nape of his neck. Stiles shuffled his feet nervously.  
“What about the fact that I can’t seem to be more than a car length away from Derek? What are we supposed to do about that?” Deaton smiled secretively.  
“I suspect that issue will resolve itself once the bond has been completed. Right now your bodies are striving to force near proximity to your mate so that the bond can take root. Once it has done so, you should be able to move about freely. You will, of course, still be able to sense each other, always, but that tether can be extended over great distances with no adverse effects on the bonded individuals. There is ample evidence to support this in lore as well as medical research.” Stiles was temporarily distracted by this statement.  
“There are werewolf medical research studies?” Deaton nodded. Stiles contemplated briefly how that would even work and then the logistics of finding sample sizes large enough to create a proper study and managing to keep it out of the public eye made his head hurt. This is something that needed further attention when he wasn’t busily trying to mount and mate a prickly werewolf.  
Stiles sighed. “Well thanks for everything doc. Let us know if you find out anything useful about…us.” Stiles said it as if he were taking the pronoun out for a test drive. His eyes briefly flickered over Derek to see if he noticed. He did and nodded in approval, as if reading Stiles question in the sentence.  
Deaton placed a sympathetic hand on Stiles’ shoulder looking between the two men with concern on his face. “I am here if you have any questions, my door is always open. This does not have to be a burden thrust upon you.” He paused here to switch his focus solely to Derek and the wolf reacted with shock as the doctor seemed to look right through him. “This could be a great boon to you as individuals and the pack as a whole. A mated pair means stability and long term sustainability. Not to mention the both of you have so much tragedy in your lives, perhaps fate has seen clear to granting you a little good, for once. Try to enjoy it.” Deaton clapped Stiles on the back, gathering his blood samples and making his way out the door, leaving them to finishing dressing in peace.  
Stiles was overwhelmed by the silence between them. Derek’s face was closed off, his brows thunderously roiling between pensive and anxious. He watched Derek put his shoes on and he mimed the movements on his own feet. Derek seemed to come to an internal decision grunting as he stood and pulling Stiles to his feet as well. Derek stared into Stiles’ eyes, none of the usual anger or frustration clouding his expression. Instead his hazel seemed awestruck and reverent. His warm hands made their way up Stiles’ arms stroking his shoulders and flexing strong fingers in the boy’s flesh as if vacillating between pulling him closer or pushing him away.  
Stiles was uncertain about the emotions he saw in Derek’s stare, they seemed so raw and truthful. It made Stiles’ pulse skip jump a staccato rhythm against his rib cage. It made him hope. One of Derek’s hands slid up to Stiles’ neck, his long fingers interlacing with the short hair at the base of his skull. The feeling sent sparks flying across Stiles’ synapses, simultaneously comforting and exciting. Derek was breathing heavily through his mouth, the moist warm air ghosting across the hairs on Stiles’ face making him shiver involuntarily.  
Derek drew in a sharp breath through his nose, as if he were scenting the air for a trail. Derek’s eyes closed as he reveled in the scent of the boy in front of him. When he opened them again his pupils were blown wide and ringed with bright blue. Derek’s wolf came raging forward, screaming to claim and mate the boy in his arms. Derek fought to resist the urge to sink his fangs into the exposed skin where Stiles’ t-shirt scooped around and over his collar bones.  
“Stiles? Is this OK? Are you?” Stiles flushed as his arousal heightened in reaction to the feral urges of Derek’s more primal self. It was most certainly strange if you looked at the situation objectively, that two otherwise heterosexual males were suddenly eye fucking each other in a doctor’s office after only having slept, and I mean literally sleeping next to each other, together twice. But Stiles was not capable of objectivity. The sensations rushing underneath his skin were his only reality and every aspect of his being was screaming to press himself against Derek and try to climb inside him. That Derek wanted to do the same to him; to lick and kiss and nip and fuck every inch of Stiles’ virgin body. Somewhere in this stream of consciousness he was aware that Derek wasn’t doing those things and it was because Stiles hadn’t answered his question.  
“Y-yes. Jesus, fuck. Yes Derek!” Then he was surging forward and flailing octopus like limbs around the startled wolf. Derek’s eye’s widened in surprise as Stiles pressed his warm, wet mouth against a patch of his face that was mostly stubble, but the boy quickly corrected his trajectory and slid his plump lips over to meet Derek’s own. The kiss was sloppy and overeager, Stiles pressed too hard and nearly drew blood from them both, but Derek couldn’t bring himself to care. He brought both hands up to cup the boy’s face and then tilting it gently to the proper angle proceeded to burrow his tongue deep into Stiles’ warm mouth. Stiles made a strangled moaning sound into Derek’s mouth, his long legs wrapped around Derek’s narrow waist as he tried to scale the taller man. Derek quickly shifted his hands from the boy’s face to catch Stiles under his ass and hoist him roughly up higher on Derek’s hips. Then he took two steps forward and pressed Stiles’ back flush against the brick wall, allowing Derek to begin a slow, dirty grind and grope as his hands stroked over the taught globes of Stiles’ ass and his hardened member roughly rubbed against the corresponding bulge in Stiles’ jeans.  
“Ohhhh god, that’s good. Ah, Derek!” Stiles broke their frantic lip wrestling just long enough to moan his encouragement before diving back in with renewed gusto. For Derek’s part he wanted nothing more than to strip the younger man out of his clothes and take him there on the floor. His wolf howled at the thought of claiming Stiles’ virgin ass and filling it with his seed, breeding him full of his pups. Derek felt his fangs lengthening against the soft tissues of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles was gone on the endorphins flooding his system he wanted to get down on all fours and present to Derek like a bitch in heat. He got as far as trying to sink down to his knees in front of Derek before Deaton came back in to check on them.  
The doctor cleared his throat loudly, intimating his disapproval and annoyance in a single sound. Derek was barely able to surrender his focus from Stiles in front of him, his wolf growling a snapping at the interloper, but Derek had years of experience restraining his animal nature so he managed to put the wolf back in the cage by taking a few deep breaths. When he looked at the doctor next his eyes were hazel again. “Sorry, Doc. Got a little caught up. We’ll take it home.”  
Stiles, for his part, was still humping against Derek’s hip and emitting little whining, gasping sounds that were making it very difficult for Derek to maintain composure.  
“See that you do. I am happy you have both consented to completing the mating bond, but I would prefer if the ritual were finalized somewhere other than my place of business. I hope you understand.”  
Derek did, his wolf didn’t. It took every ounce of restraint left in Derek’s considerable stores to pull himself away from the warm, clingy form of Stiles. The boy was flushed from head to toe, sweating and panting with need. If he were a wolf he would be dripping slick down his thighs in anticipation of being fucked. Derek needed to get him home and to a bed. Now. Stiles was unashamedly rubbing against the bulge in his jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure built up by he and Derek’s make out session. He still did not register that Deaton was even in the room. He only had eyes for Derek. It was insanely hot.  
Derek picked Stiles up bodily and threw him over his shoulder fishing his keys out of his pocket with his free hand. He nodded to Deaton as he passed, the doctor giving them both a wide berth. Derek threw Stiles into the front seat of his Camaro and drove rapidly off into the night. Deaton stood at the doorway to the clinic arms folded and chuckling to himself until the red of Derek’s tail lights disappeared over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Switched the rating on this work for this chapter. Sorry to leave you hanging but I promise there'll be good stuff in the next one. This is totally un beta'd so all grammar issues are mine and I own them. Please leave kudos or comments if you enjoy the work.**


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